One of the more unusual items I tried during my recent stint as a State Fair food judge was the Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper-inspired “Unicorn Crepe.” It was a mix of Raspberry goo, chocolate, cotton candy and Rainbow Bright tears.
When I saw the dish, I remember thinking “That looks fun and everything, but who would order that other than a gang of girls who just left a princess party?” The answer to that question is this guy:
Put another feather in the cap of the Oklahoma budget crisis!
Recently, DHS began implementing new fees on child support payments. They’re doing this because Oklahoma government is controlled by ideologically insane oil industry overlords who would rather see single moms struggle to put food on the table than have their energy companies pay a reasonable tax rate on oil and gas production.
Here are the details via KFOR:
Back in July, Braum’s announced they would hold a “Community Meeting” to provide more information about their dumb, stupid, PR-ignorant plan to destroy the Donnay Building – a venerable, culturally significant part of North Oklahoma City culture – to make way for a new fly infested, ketchup-stained Braum’s.
That meeting was yesterday. Run-Down Local Building Preservationist Steve Lackmeyer covered it and filed this long, meandering report on NewsOK.com.
Here are some highlights:
Summers growing up in small town Texas, usually in the mornings you attended some form of Vacation Bible School at one of the 100 Baptist churches in the area and then, if you were lucky, spent the rest of the day riding bikes and getting into trouble, occasionally stopping for the omnipresent Little Debbie snack cake and 16 oz. Dr. Pepper at the corner feed and grain store.
Those were the days.
Or at least I heard they were. We had a small farm and my Depression Era father grew a pretty decent sized garden that we were expected—not asked, but expected—to help with every aspect of it. From following behind the rototiller and planting the applicable seeds to boiling hot afternoons pulling tomatoes and picking okra, those fiberglass-like hairs rubbing your hands raw, these were our summers and our reward for said labor? Being lucky enough to have a seat at the dinner table and hopefully a place in Heaven, not necessarily in that order.
There was something so special, however—and even more so in aged retrospect—in feasting over the same food you spent all afternoon bleeding on while your old man called you a “cotton-pickin’ idiot” over and over again. The magical smell of those mustard greens and dirt-encrusted onions simmering in vinegar, the warm tartness of a firm green tomato and I’ll always remember the fresh snap of that okra—that damned okra—breaded and browning in ancient coffee-can manteca and always served hedonistically next to some gravy-charged “Manager’s Special” meat, usually chicken but hopefully pork.
The only restaurant that has ever, at least in my recent memory, even come close to that farm-bred country cooking at the dinner table has been the incomparable Florence’s Restaurant, 1437 NE 23rd St. A tried and true Oklahoma City landmark since 1952 when Boley farm-girl Florence Jones brought those rural recipes to the burgeoning big city. For well over 60 years, she’s been giving the people something they obviously can’t get anywhere else around here and, by all regards, doing it right.
If you ever find yourself in a position where you’re drunk and have to deliver a dead body across the state, I’d suggest staying at home. That’s because drinking and driving is stupid, and the last thing we need is another dead body to deal with.
That being said, if you’re a drunkard and insist on risking it, I’d suggest using a hearse or ambulance. They are not only effective and traditional forms of corpse transportation, but the odds of a cop pulling you over for DUI are slim to none. If they see you swerve, they’ll just assume the body came to life, is attacking you, and leave you alone.
Some dumb drunk lady learned this life lesson the hard way. Via KOKH:
